Gluttony
by WritingForHugs
Summary: *Titled 'he who is not contented with what he has, would not be contented with what he would like to have' originally* Katniss questions her moralities at the hands of President Snow. Submission to promptsinpanem under the prompt of 'gluttony'.


A/N: Phew, it's been a while since I posted something, but I'm working on pieces at the moment, so no worries :) This is my first entry to promptsinpanem on tumblr... hopefully I've submitted correctly! This is for the prompt of _gluttony. _All typos etc are mine, THG belongs entirely to Suzanne Collins.

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He who is not contented with what he has, would not be contented with what he would like to have

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She promises herself that she'll eat what she wants, but that when she's full – _comfortably _full – she'll stop. She can't waste anything. She can't do what Capitolites do. They eat and eat and eat until they can't eat any more, and then go into the nearest restrooms and take pills that will cause them to vomit up their food. That way, they can eat however much they want and enjoy themselves, without having to stop simply because they're full.

That's the one thing the Capitol has in common with District 12. The world _full _is a foreign word. In 12, especially in the Seam, we struggle to have food on a day-to-day basis. Our stomachs are always growling, and the feeling of having enough food is foreign. Here in the Capitol, having enough food isn't fully appreciated. They waste food by vomiting it up.

She thinks it's disgusting.

But now, as she stares at the table laden down with countless dishes in front of her, she wonders how she's gonna be able to taste everything. _'I'll try a spoonful of everything, and then go back to the dishes I like the most' _she tells herself, standing up from her chair and grabbing a spoon.

The table is arranged carefully, with starters on the left, and then the expansive main course, before leading off into desserts. The starters consist of soups; dark red tomato, thick, orange soup, a green soup filled with dainty vegetables and noodles, and a brown/cream soup that goes perfectly with the hot buttered bread that fills a large bowl that the rainbow of soups surround.

On silver trays there are small slices of bread, layered with pink slivers of what smells like fish – salmon, she guesses – and scrambled egg. Next there are round, breadcrumb-covered balls of cheese and bacon. She takes two of those, breaking her promise of one try of each food. There is a small, shiny black pot of… of… _caviar…_ she recalls Effie saying way back when they were on the train heading for the Capitol for the 74th Games. A stack of crackers sits beside the pot, and she spoons a pile of caviar on to the cracker. The salty taste makes her squirm, and she wonders what caviar actually is.

The main course takes up almost half of the table. Already she's eaten more than she would in a day before the games, and that's just the starter. She moves on, admiring the range of foods laid out for her choosing. Taking pride of place in the centre of the table is a giant lump of multiple meats. Taking one of the pre-cut slices, she bites into it, staring at the different layers of meat that have been tied together. Dark beef, vibrant pork, stringy quail, chewy chicken, and other juicy, tender meats she can't name. A tureen of stew releases a hot cloud of steam when she lifts the lid, and she tears off a chunk of bread, dunking it in the thick gravy before lifting it to her lips. She moans at the strong stew that compliments the nutty, heavy bread perfectly. A pot of roasted potatoes is next – golden and crispy on the outside, soft and fluffy on the inside – and she pops one into her mouth.

Pasta parcels filled with spiced vegetables, fish, and more meat lay on a dish, and a pile of rice and spicy sauce littered with chicken is next. She eats and eats and eats, barely taking note of _what _exactly she's putting in her mouth. It's all so good though. She's _never _had food like this.

Several dishes from the main course later, Katniss plonks herself down in a chair and sighs, smacking her lips. Any minute now, she's going to have to undo the top button of her pants. _Thirsty, _she thinks, eyeing the range of drinks that are clustered together at the far end of the mahogany table. She climbs to her feet with a huff, ambling forward and pouring herself a large cup of the first thing she gets hold of.

It's a rich burgundy wine, spiced and burning to the throat and beautiful. Satisfied, she moves on to the desserts.

Vanilla, strawberry, chocolate, mint, pecan, raisin. Ice cream in more flavours than she knew could exist. Ice creams in more flavours that she can name. Sweet raspberry sorbets, followed by tangy vanilla. Rich, pungent chocolate cake made of soft sponge, sugary, creamy icing, and crushed and crumbled flaky chocolate for decoration. A huge jug of golden custard. Apple tarts covered in golden sugar. White, swirled sugary things drowning in sliced strawberries and cream. Buttery shortbread that melts on her tongue.

A domed, pale sponge that is more treacle than sponge. Chocolate jellies with _gold shavings. _Moose, pies, tiny cakes, cookies, and crumbly gingerbread. Bowls of candy. She had thought the tiny candy store next door to the cobblers was expansive. She spent many hours with Prim, pressing her nose up against the glass and staring at the rows upon rows of candy-filled jars in every colour imaginable. The candy store pales in comparison. Fruit jellies so see-through that she can see all the separate slices of fruit inside. Towering sponges laden with blackberries and dusted with snow-like sugar.

Nutty, fruity flat cakes that stick to the roof of her mouth. Spun sugar that is weightless and dissolves in her mouth. A pale cake that tastes a little like cheese. Bowls of sweet fruit, waffles piles high with cream and chocolate and blueberries.

She drinks continuously, trying to wash away the taste of a food before she moves on to another as to not taint the taste. Bitter coffees, milky teas, creamy hot chocolates. She remembers – her heart panging at the memory - Peeta's suggestion to dip bread rolls in the hot chocolate. Liquors she doubts even Haymitch has tried. Fruity drinks.

And _then_ she's full.

She wants more. She wants to try everything again. She snatches up the pot of blue pills and takes one before she can tell herself no.

The vomit rises in her throat quicker than she expects, and then she's on her knees, throwing up, tears rolling down her cheeks as her stomach clenches and her hands form fists. Once she's done she rolls over onto her back and whispers 'no' over and over again, shaking her head.

Tears are still drying on her skin when she stands and runs back to the table, choking down all the potatoes, dipping them in the gravy in the tureen of stew, not caring when she burns her hands. The gleam in her eyes is wild, her movements almost primal, as she claws at the meat, stuffing it into her mouth desperately. Bowls of soup are lifted to her mouths and she swallows deeply, reaching yet again for the blue pills.

The smell of vomit fills the room. She wonders why there isn't an Avox here already, cleaning up and leading her to a private place to throw up instead of on the floor.

Three hours later she has an aching jaw. Just as she reaches for another slice of chocolate cake, drool, vomit, and food all over her face and hands, her eyes catch a sight of the clock on the wall. She's been here for a long, long time. Peeta will be wondering where she is. He'll be worried. She forces the cake down.

Eat, eat, eat.

She cannot stop.

Sobbing and screaming for an end, it's as if all her hunger has built up since her birth and has now be let loose. A roaring, ravenous lion, intent on destroying everything. A mutt. A savage mutt that just can't stop. She's a monster. The glass of wine she's drinking drops to the floor. She brings a handful of perfectly-cooked vegetables to her mouth and chews. By now it's a mechanical action.

The fifth time she vomits, she can taste acidic blood on her tongue. Her stomach screams, pain radiating from her middle. She grips onto the table for balance but falls, dragging the once-white tablecloth with her along with multiple dishes. She spreads her arms and legs, writhing in the spilt food.

Pain, again, from her tummy. It forces her to curl up into a ball, bawling and shrieking. What has the Capitol _done_ to her? Where _is _Peeta? He should be here to pull her away before this happened. The door opens with a creak. _Strange, _she thinks. _All the doors in the Capitol are silent._

Peeta stands there, his shoulders hunched, his eyes drooping with purple bags. He hasn't been sleeping well. She hasn't either.

"It's so nice. I've never had nice!" she screeches her defence, though he hasn't said anything. "Never! I'm so hungry. And I said I wouldn't take the pills but I had to! Look at the food!"

"Oh, Katniss." Peeta whispers, stepping towards her. She climbs to her feet. He pulls her shirt from her body and replaces it with his, guiding her away, down the corridor and into the dark. His grip on his arm is replaced with a different hand in a space between the light of the lamps. When she looks to her left, it's Snow, his tongue flickering like a snake.

"Miss Everdeen. I hope you enjoyed your meal," he says with a smile, pushing open a door. "Goodnight."


End file.
